by Jayne Rylon
“I know. But it’s harder for a painting to accidentally go viral.” I balk once more at the idea of being captured like this on film or in pixels, whatever cameras use these days. A single stray email attachment could have resounding implications. “My investors might not appreciate my dick plastered all over the internet.”
“If they were smart, they’d use naked shots of you to market every damn product you make. You’d all get rich—richer—quick. These go nowhere, I swear. I don’t even put them on my laptop that has internet access. And if they somehow were to be leaked, you could sue the shit out of me according to that paperwork we signed, right?”
I nod. There was an ironclad nondisclosure agreement included in the contract we executed earlier in the week. It was one of the only reasons I’d gone ahead with my potentially reckless decision to immortalize myself at my most vulnerable for Ronaldo.
I draw a shaky breath, pause to consider the risks, and realize I trust Kaden. I’m totally comfortable around him. Maybe a little too comfortable considering I’m completely bared. Doubly so since he seems like he’s looking at me hard enough to see beyond surface features like the shade of my skin or the lines of my body.
He’s peering into me. Prepared to capture my essence. It was what made his paintings so captivating and memorable. Would I like the reflection of myself as much as I enjoyed his other paintings? I hope so.
“Sorry, go ahead.” I try to relax as he frames me and snaps away.
“Thanks.” He rewards me with a lopsided grin then clicks the shutter release a few more times before I can change my mind.
What seems like an eternity later, I’m still hooked on watching him do his thing. My thigh and ass have long since gone numb. The burning in my arm is only eclipsed by the stiffness in my lower back. I think my spine might be permanently deformed. Still, I don’t dare budge.
There’s no chance in hell I’ll cry mercy. In many ways, we’re playing a game like the ones I enjoy with my boyfriend. At least, I am. Kaden is blissfully unaware that I’m testing myself. So why does it feel more thrilling than anything I’ve experienced with Ronaldo in a while?
Because it’s secret?
Because Kaden is forbidden?
It must be.
He’s in his own world, brush flying from his palette to the canvas and back as he squints, shrugs, and mumbles to himself. Simultaneously adorable and expert in his approach. It’s fascinating to observe as I imagine him fleshing out the basic outlines of the pencil sketch he did earlier. I can tell from his intensity that painting gives him the same rush negotiating a business deal brings me.
That’s something Ronaldo can’t relate to. He doesn’t have that kind of passion for a career. He’d been a server when we met, but it was only a job to him. Not an obsession or a foot in the door to something bigger. It hadn’t taken much to convince him to quit and spend his evenings with me instead. Otherwise, my hectic schedule would never have allowed us to spend time together.
Every occasion since then that I’ve tried to not-so-subtly prod him into taking an interest in something, anything, to occupy his time while I’m gone, our discussions have ended up as arguments. Despite his willingness to spend my money, he often equates my ambition to greed. It makes me feel slimy for trying to do better for us and my shareholders instead of simply enjoying the abundance I’ve already amassed. Maybe that was why he asked when I’d be done with my weekend “meeting” five times this morning. His irritated huffs had escalated each time I reiterated that I didn’t have a precise answer to that question until I nearly divulged my surprise to keep the peace.
Guilt adds to my discomfort. My boyfriend is stuck at home, probably bored out of his mind, and I’m here having one hell of a time. At least as much fun as Kaden’s having painting me. The bulge in his jeans tells me his work turns him on. It probably floods his bloodstream with a rush of endorphins I’m very familiar with.
What does he see when he looks at me? I’d give anything to peek over his shoulder for a moment. Lost in thought, I don’t register the approaching sound of voices right away. They’re distant and out of place in the bubble of hushed concentration encapsulating Kaden and me. Distorted by the glass walls of the house that they’re passing through from outside.
He pauses and frowns, surfacing from his trance.
I hate whoever is interrupting. Trespassers. Usually I don’t mind. Today, it pisses me off.
“Are you expecting visitors?” Kaden asks.
I shake my head, wincing when my neck cracks. Damn it. They made me move. My streak is broken. As if that shatters my self-control, I suddenly have the urge to stretch except I feel like the Tin Man at this point. I might need some help working out the kinks enough to stand.
I’m hoping the passersby don’t peek in the wall of windows or they’re going to get an eyeful. I glance around for my clothes, which are neatly folded in a stack on the sofa halfway across the room. As creaky as my joints are at the moment, they might as well be in the closet of my main house. “No. People cut through our yard to get to the beach sometimes since they know we’re not around much. They’ll go away in a minute. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll take that break now.”
Kaden peeks at his watch a moment before his cheeks flame. “Rogan, it’s been too long. Why didn’t you say something? You must be dying. I’m sorry. I got caught up. Never needed a safe word for this kind of session before.”
He rushes to my side and stoops, looping an arm around my shoulders.
Which is right about when I notice that instead of fading, the voices outside are growing louder. Husky conversation and something more filter into my sanctuary.
A moan. A muffled curse.
And…dirty talk?
“Just a little farther. And then I’ll bend you over and have you begging for my cock in that tight ass. You need that, don’t you? Even though you couldn’t wait and sucked me off while we were out there sunbathing where anyone—including the damn paparazzi—could have spotted us. I should punish you for that. Spank you then fuck your brains out. You want that, huh?”
“Yes, sir. Please, hurry.”
“We’ll see.” A wicked chuckle I know very well, but haven’t heard for quite some time—not like that—reverberates through the room.
Ronaldo!
My gaze snaps to Kaden’s. He’s suddenly become as stiff as I have been for hours. His wide eyes bore into mine from mere inches away.
I should brush him off, jump to my feet, cover myself, prepare for the implosion of my life that’s coming in three…two…
Do something other than lounge here like the statue with a heart of stone I wish I was. But I can’t. It seems like I’m stuck in some horrible nightmare.
Worst of all is the dawning realization on Kaden Finch’s handsome face as his gaze whips between me and the direction the voices are coming from multiple times in a split second. Then I lose track of what he’s doing as I follow his horrified stare to the house’s glass backdoor. The one off the garage where I usually park, but didn’t today. Where two men in skintight bathing suits that hide nothing make it clear they’re coming inside and ready to party.
“Oh shit…” Kaden turns toward the door, his hand outstretched as if he can barricade it and keep reality from barging in and crushing me. Nice try. Gallant, even. Except it doesn’t work.
Both of us stare as my boyfriend slaps his lover on the ass, shoves him over the threshold, then stuffs his tongue down the guy’s throat. He shivers in Ronaldo’s unrelenting grasp.
He’s cute, I’ll give him that. Ronaldo does have good taste in men.
Air flies from my body in a rush along with shreds of my heart, ego, and the last of my misguided loyalty to this absolutely unworthy bastard. It makes some sort of sound between a gasp and a wheeze as it leaves my empty, aching chest.
The guy in Ronaldo’s arms stiffens. His eyes nearly pop out of his skull when he notices Kaden and me.
Talk about a willy wilter. I almos
t feel bad for him.
“What the—?“ Ronaldo jerks around. He takes in the sight of Kaden so near, touching my naked body. I’ve never seen that shade of purple on a person before. Dumbass me, for a moment I think it’s caused by mortification. Shock at being caught.
Until he drops his sidepiece, abandoning the man, who stumbles and crumples into a heap. Ronaldo rounds on me and has the gall to unleash his infamous temper. This time I won’t let the toxic blend of aggression and rage or the sheer volume at which he projects his animosity deter me from speaking my mind. At least, when I can find my voice again.
“You’re screwing me over?” He storms toward me, drawn up short only when Kaden steps nimbly between us. “I guess I know now why you’re too tired to fuck when you get home at night! When you bother to come home. Is he why you’re out of town so damn much?”
All I can do is laugh.
It might be the slightly insane sort of amusement that comes from trying to make sense of the impossible, but I clutch my sore abs and snort as I sit up fully. Goddamn, I hurt. Everywhere.
“I think you’ve got this twisted around.” Kaden’s shoulders broaden as his chest puffs up. He’s smaller than Ronaldo, but I would bet my entire fortune that he’ll kick my boyfriend’s—no, ex-boyfriend’s—ass if I don’t intervene.
“Who the hell are you to tell me what to think about my boy fucking some hottie behind my back?” Ronaldo snarls. His hook-up whimpers, then scuttles out the door, letting it slam behind him.
“Thanks for the compliment, but I’m not a sack of shit like you. I don’t touch men who are taken.” Kaden reaches out and spins his easel so Ronaldo can see the work in progress. It’s already obvious that it’s me. Here. Looking pretty damn fine, if I do say so myself.
Ronaldo’s nostrils flare. “What’s that? A souvenir? Pretty stupid to leave proof of an affair.”
He must have a system locked down. Knows all the tips and tricks to avoid getting caught. Clearly, I’m an idiot to have ignored my instincts. I should have realized he’s been fooling around. I guess sometimes the gossip columns have it right after all. Even I’m not dumb enough to think I caught him cheating the very first time he’s strayed.
This is a pattern. A habit he’s used to hiding.
Son of a bitch.
“It was a gift. That I won’t be selling to him anymore if he plans to give it to a dirtbag like you for your anniversary. You don’t deserve this. Or him, for that matter.” Kaden cracks his knuckles before his fingers ball into fists.
“No!” I lunge to my feet, pain blazing through parts of me that are so dead they transcend numbness and throb in agony. I ignore the bolts of lightning zapping my nerve endings and grab Kaden’s elbow, tugging him out of Ronaldo’s reach. “You’re not going to bust up those hands because of me. It’s not worth it.”
My ex blinks at me, leering at my nudity.
I feel disgusting when his pupils dilate. If he thinks there’s any chance he’s touching me with his filthy junk ever again, he’s insane.
When Kaden comes to his senses and retreats, I do the same. Limping to the sofa, I snatch my pants from the cushion and shake them out. I tip precariously trying to put them on with even a hint of grace. Kaden is there, steadying me.
“He’s not worth a fight,” he corrects me quietly. “I have a feeling you are.”
“Why don’t you get rid of this loser so we can talk?” Ronaldo shifts gears smoothly, like he has the other times I’ve reached my breaking point. He paints a half-apologetic, half-pleading expression on his face and lowers his voice a couple dozen decibels. Only now can I see how effortlessly he’s manipulated me in past, and how he’s trying to do it again.
“There’s nothing to say. We’re done.” I cross my arms and try to keep my shit together. How could I have been so blind? “In fact, don’t bother coming home. You can stay here for a maximum of two weeks. By the end of that time you’ll need to find somewhere else to live because the locks here will be changed and this place will be on the market. I’ll have someone from my staff pack your things and bring them out here tonight.”
“What? You can’t do that! It’s not like you give a shit anyway. You’re always so damn busy running your empire, you don’t have time for me, the man who’s supposed to be the center of your life. Have you forgotten all your promises? Did you ever mean them? Aren’t you going to man up and take some of the blame for this?” Ronaldo takes a step forward.
I jerk backward hard enough to give my already stiff neck whiplash. Suddenly he’s so repulsive I think I might puke if he touches me. Yet his emotional abuse still has the power to screw with my head. Maybe I should have paid more attention to him. Or cut him loose a few years back, when he persuaded me to try harder at strengthening our relationship instead of calling it quits. I waver the slightest bit in my convictions.
Once again, Kaden is there, coming to my defense. “Stay the hell away from him. Quit spouting that bullshit, too. You’re the only person responsible for your terrible choices, asshole.”
Ronaldo’s mask slips. He roars at Kaden, “It’s no business of yours!”
“I’m making it my business.” Kaden turns to me and levels his most authoritative stare in my direction. “Put your shirt on, and let’s go. I’m taking you home.”
Instinctively, I respond, doing as he commands. I shove my arms through the sleeves of my dress shirt and leave it hanging open over my unbuttoned slacks. As I head for the front door of the house I know I’ll never return to, I don’t bother to look over my shoulder at either the view or the man I used to imagine I loved.
My breathing sticks in my chest. I feel as numb inside as all of my limbs are. Ironically, that doesn’t keep either my body or my spirit from throbbing in excruciating pain.
Kaden grabs hold of my elbow, casually supporting me as we make our escape. He scoops my keys and wallet from the bowl by the front entrance then murmurs in my ear, “Stand tall. Don’t let him see you wrecked. You can do this. A few more steps and we’ll be gone.”
I do as he tells me. Trusting him to get me out of this mess.
Funny how it seems only natural.
Maybe I’m reaching for a connection after severing ties with Ronaldo. Or maybe he’s the kind of guy my ex-boyfriend was only pretending to be all along.
5
Kaden
Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.
I tuck Rogan into the passenger seat of his sporty sedan. While I imagined myself driving the sleek Tesla earlier today, I hadn’t expected to have the opportunity. And definitely wouldn’t have wanted to if I had known why it would be necessary.
Jogging around to the driver’s side, I’m glad there’s no transmission in this car so I won’t embarrass myself by grinding the gears. I’d rather squeal the tires and make an exit worthy of the rage I feel on Rogan’s behalf. Either way, I don’t think he’s going to notice.
The poor bastard is sitting across from me and hasn’t made a peep. He scrubs his face with his hands, then presses his knuckles to his eyes. I wouldn’t blame him if he broke down.
“It’s okay, you know. Completely understandable to be upset after…what just happened.” Hell, it even shocked me and I wasn’t in a relationship with that piece of shit.
“I’m not over here weeping like a teenager with a broken heart. I’m angry I let myself waste the past five years of my life on a con artist like him,” Rogan explodes.
Thank God—I can deal with that much better.
“Do you know how to drive? Have a license?” he asks, his voice still raised, though I know it’s not in anger at me. I nod. “Then, please. Go.”
I adjust the mirrors quickly, not wanting to destroy his sweet ride after he’s already lost so much in one morning, then launch us down the fancypants driveway. I skid a little when I gun it onto the rural road that leads back to the city.
Rogan doesn’t freak. He doesn’t even flinch. His shoulders slump and he looks out the window with an expression that ma
kes me think he’s saying goodbye to his precious ocean. I hate that Ronaldo ruined it for him. As my surprise begins to morph into indignation on Rogan’s behalf, I realize why his boyfriend looked so familiar.
Uh oh.
Should I tell him? I mean, it’s better to know the full extent of things all at once, right? Plus it might keep him from taking that guy back. Ronaldo doesn’t deserve a man like Rogan.
“Hey, Rogan?” I bite my lip and glance over to see if he’s lost any of that far-away, dazed look. “You did say the painting was for your fifth anniversary, didn’t you?”
“Unfortunately.”
“I hate to break this to you…”
He rubs his temples. “What? What now? He’s not following us, is he?”
When he cranes his neck then winces, I put my hand on his forearm to keep him from straining his muscles, which have to be knotted all to hell. I can’t help myself. I rub my thumb over the ropes of sinew beneath my fingers.
He seems to relax. Until I drop another bomb. “I’ve seen that douchebag before. There’s a club…for people in the lifestyle…a few blocks from my place. Romeo & Julian. I met my own douchebag of an ex-boyfriend there.”
“Not a resounding endorsement.” Rogan faces me with a wry hint of a smile. I hate to wipe even that off his face.
“I used to see Ronaldo there all the time. Picking up guys. One time Cortez—my ex—and I saw him fucking some guy up against a Dumpster in the alley on our way out. He had a reputation for being especially cruel. Got off on using the inexperienced guys and screwing with their emotions. Eventually he got banned from the bar. The owner had enough of the drama.”
“When?” Rogan sounds like he’s about to choke on the question.
I hope the glance I shoot him between taking the curves in the road isn’t doused in pity. It used to make me feel even worse when I ran into people after my breakup and saw the look in their eyes when I confessed I was single. This has to be way worse. “A couple years ago. Two-ish.”
